


Cry, Little Sister [English]

by saphique



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Battle of Hogwarts, Despair, F/F, Final Battle, Guilt, Injured Narcissa, Protective Bellatrix, Protectiveness, Sister-Sister Relationship, Sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 07:24:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16154348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saphique/pseuds/saphique
Summary: Like a wild animal protecting her wounded offspring, Bellatrix is on the watch, her wand erect, ready to leap violently at anyone who dares to approach, not leaving her sister's side. Beyond the dust barrier, lightning bolts are intensifying, as do intermingled screams. The danger is imminent.





	Cry, Little Sister [English]

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Cry, Little Sister [Français]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16178324) by [saphique](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saphique/pseuds/saphique)
  * Inspired by [Cry Little Sister](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/421160) by crumpledquill. 



> Nothing is more touching than a protective Bellatrix.  
> I truly believe Bellatrix was scared of Voldemort and couldn't escape him. But Narcissa, she is her one true love.

**Thou shalt not kill  
Thou shalt not die**

**Cry!**

In spite of her quiet protest, for several hours as long as days, Narcissa is involved in the war of Hogwarts. By her side, the most valiant warrior of the world of witchcraft, Bellatrix, performs impressive exploits and despicable cruelties.

A dense smoke prevents the sisters from distinguishing their surroundings. Suddenly, a spell coming from the enemy results in explosions, wall collapses, and immediate agony. Trapped, Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy are buried under gravelly remains.

Only the din of the collapsing walls, intermingled with terrified cries, succeed in being perceived in this chaos.

Suffocating on dust, Narcissa coughs, wipes her face with her rough palm, wounded by the fight. Astounded, she does not fully understand what is happening yet.

Narcissa finds herself lying down on the ground, outspread on soil and pebbles, her breath cut by a weight lying on her. It is Bellatrix's body, forming a protective barrier around her little sister. Bellatrix's arms cover and protect Narcissa's head, while her whole body is roughly spread on hers, trying to protect every inch of Narcissa.

Her thick, filthy hair, filled with knots, sticks to her face, wet with sweat and damp blood.

Bellatrix's head suddenly peaks up and she stares at Narcissa under her protection. With a quick wand, like a roaring beast, Bellatrix launches in the air the accumulated wreckages on their bodies, freeing them. The rocks and fragments smash against the surroundings, clearing their bodies and generating a terrible ruckus. The fabric covering her arms and shoulders, as well as parts of the bottom of her dress, were ripped under the rubble.

"Cissy?! Are you hurt?"

Behind this wild mane, Narcissa manages to distinguish enormous and attentive eyes. Bellatrix scrutinizes the slightest sign of pain in her sister's form. Narcissa has never recognized such lucidity. Neither a fear so transparent.

"I'm alright..." she reassured, knowing that her lie is not convincing, because a cough forces her to spit blood. Narcissa feels a strong sense of being pierced by a sharp object. Gradually, her breathing becomes arduous, shortened, icy. Radically, the anguish turns into torture, increases in intensity, causing tears of disbelief and fear.

"Do not cry, little sister..." Bellatrix's words turn into buzzing, cavernous songs.

"Cissy ... Cissy, do not cry, do not show them your weakness ..."

Her voice is supplicating, horrified. Bellatrix is wholeheartedly touching in her instinctive love towards her sister.

"I ... can not ... breathe ...", she managed to whisper through her pain.

Clumsily, Bellatrix caresses her sister's forehead, her cheeks, smearing her skin with blood and dirt. Unaccustomed to tenderness, healing, care, Bellatrix's nervousness is transposed into the jerky rhythm of her movements.

"Yes, yes you can ..."

She puts the palm of her hand against the injured chest of her little sister, invokes a spell to offer a part of her own breathing, to strengthen her own. This accompaniment alleviates somewhat the sharp pain that runs through her body.

"Follow my breathing ... dear sister ..."

 **Thou shalt not fall** ****  


Bellatrix's breath is nauseating, her forehead is wrinkled by concentration, her bulging eyes veil with worry. The blood stained on their robes intertwines, while the moist blood of their lesions mingles.

"Do it for me, Cissy ..."

Simultaneously, Narcissa is torn between opposing feelings: hopelessness and desire for survival. But what is the use of staying alive for this woman, if she offers her a corrupt warrior as a sister? Always in danger, spreading terror and constantly generating, year after year, anxiety in Narcissa. How many times was she alarmed about the safety of her sister? _Will she survive this fight_? _Will she survive Azkaban_? _Will she survive this war_? _Will she survive this gigantic love that she represses under her violence_?

Exhausted, Narcissa only perceives her sister, whose entire attention is turned towards the control of her breathing, her hand resting firmly between her lungs.

Until a nearby voice diverts the warrior's attention through the cloud of brownish dust. Instantly, Bellatrix looks up and brandishes her wand, ready to attack, without removing her hand lodged against Narcissa's chest that guides her breathing. Bellatrix decides to kneel in order to better discern the surroundings.

"I'm going to remove my hand, Cissy, put yours over your chest." Not knowing how to heal, Bellatrix knows how to attack and fight back.

Narcissa tries to move her arm, however it is terribly difficult, as if the muscular communication was not effective any more. All of a sudden, Narcissa realizes the extent of her injury.

One of Bellatrix's daggers, sublime by its ornament of stones, is lodged directly in the flanks of the left side of Narcissa. During the fall, when Bellatrix jumped on her sister to protect her, the knife slipped from its base and pierced her ribs, lodging deeply in the muscles and lungs. Bellatrix has no idea.

Like a wild animal that protects her wounded offspring, Bellatrix is on the watch, her wand erect, ready to leap violently at anyone who dares to approach, not leaving her sister's side. Beyond the dust barrier, lightning bolts are intensifying, as do intermingled screams. The danger is imminent.

"Get up! We're gotta move!" Bellatrix insists, wishing to escape and find refuge before continuing the war.

"Bella ..." The puny and unusual voice of Narcissa managed to reach her sister's ears. Narcissa expels blood, soaking her corset, audible sputum.

All at once, Bellatrix stops, and dreads the moment she turns to look at her sister's elongated body.

Narcissa immediately recognizes the second where Bellatrix sees the knife lodged in her body, whose pure metal clearly reflects the color of the neighboring spells.

Bellatrix's bemused heart, neglected for decades, suddenly regains its place in the cavity of her torso, in order to tense horribly, to screw itself, to perceive itself implode. The deformity of Bellatrix's face is memorable. She is disfigured by stupefaction, her eyes reach an ominous bulging, and her trembling, wide-opened mouth suggests a cry that will pierce eardrums. While massive tremors take hold of her skeleton, Bellatrix regains mobility, tightens her wrists to the point where her bones break. Slowly, the dreaded cry is viscerally exhaled out of her arid throat, reaching decibels usually unattainable. A cry of despair.

In a few seconds, Bellatrix pivots on herself and greenish sparks spring up precipitously out of her wand. She randomly points from left to right, reaching all and nothing at once. Her guilt and her remorse from injuring her little sister, are more stimulating than hatred and disgust.

**Immortal fear**

**That voice so clear**

**Through broken walls**

**That scream I hear**

Narcissa's consciousness alternates between darkness and light. Overwhelmed, dazed by pain and demoralized by the violence of her sister, Narcissa burst into tears and, with each jolt of her shoulders, it increases the embrace of the knife. Oh, in what state do they end up in? Active in a war as barbaric as useless, murdering children for the prosperity of the dark wizard. It would be so beautiful if they could be comfortably settled in their mansion, satisfied with the presence of the other, without getting involved in a genocide. Oh, in what state do they end up in? Why black magic interfered in the Black family? How dare it manipulated Bellatrix's passion and voluntarism? If Narcissa wasn't so scared of her own sister, if Narcissa didn't felt so much love towards her own sister…

Coughing on blood, Narcissa struggles to get the slightest trace of oxygen. In doing so, a difficult inspiration pushes her to open her eyes, and the picture she sees is enough to cut her breath.

**Last fire will rise**

**Behind those eyes**

**Black house will rock**

Incessantly, Bellatrix casts forbidden spells with piercing howls, propelled by her wand with a gargantuan will. The precision is not present, because the objective is to burn, destroy, wreck. Tense and cold bodies fall at her feet, children and adults, some even wearing the mask of Death Eaters. Her madness reaches a level of non-retour, behind the multiple Avada Kedavras she expels haphazardly.

How can one prevent her darling sister from slaughtering all these living beings? How can Narcissa make her understand that she is revolted by this abusive violence, that she always has been? But how not to be deeply moved by the unconditional loyalty? A beautiful portrait that sums up their relationship. Would Narcissa dare to think that Bellatrix is the sole responsible for this chaos? Narcissa has a responsibility, since she preferred to accompany her sister in her delusion of grandeur without questioning her methods. Does the Pure-Blood philosophy really lead up for this one conclusion?

Narcissa's vision begins to be inadequate, blinded by bewitching flashes, by waves of dust, and by the pain that weakens her. What she manages to discern is the tangled hair of her sister, waving as she runs in the smoke. Her lonely fight looks like an insane dance.

In the heart of this desolation, is there room for the last vows of Narcissa? Would she manage to implore her to stop everything? Can she beg her to put this moment on hold, to kneel at her side and kiss her? Will she be able to formulate, in a coherent sentence, her pardon? Filled with tenderness and unconditional love, her voice can only whisper, and despite this, Narcissa knows that Bellatrix is able to hear her last breath.

**Thou shalt not die**

**Thou shalt not kill**

**Cry!**

 

 


End file.
